Chapter. 03

{Third person's pov}

The party was everything Natasha expected. And everything she hated.

Crystal chandeliers. Low golden lighting. Conversations that weren’t really conversations, just carefully crafted words exchanged between people who measured value in power, not sincerity.

Evan fit into it effortlessly. Of course he did.

His hand rested at her waist as they moved through the room, his posture relaxed, his expression perfectly composed. He greeted people with ease, a faint smile always in place, his voice smooth, controlled.

Untouchable.

Natasha stayed beside him, just as composed on the outside. The dress, Red, structured, exactly as he had chosen, it fitted her like it was designed for this moment. For his world.

“Stay close,” he murmured under his breath, barely looking at her. She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

It happened quickly, A turn. A step. Someone brushing past her a little too hard. The heel of her shoe caught slightly against the polished floor.

And in the next second, She stumbled. Enough for the glass in her hand to tilt, the dark liquid spilling across the front of her dress.

A sharp intake of breath. Not from her, From the people around them.

Silence fell, not fully, but just enough. Enough for it to be noticed. Natasha straightened immediately, her pulse spiking, her fingers tightening around the empty glass.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, almost automatically.

But Evan had already gone still. Completely still.

And that was worse.

When she looked at him, his expression hadn’t changed. Not in front of them.

His hand tightened around her waist, not painfully, but firm enough to send a message.

“Excuse us,” he said smoothly to the people nearby, his voice calm, polite.

No one would have guessed anything was wrong.

The moment the door shut behind them, everything changed.

Evan let go of her like her presence suddenly irritated him. “What was that?” he snapped.

The softness was gone, Completely. Natasha blinked, still catching up, her heart beating too fast. “It was an accident—”

“An accident?” he cut in sharply. “In a room like that?”

She frowned, anger rising to meet his tone. “Someone bumped into me, Evan. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said coldly. The words hit harder than they should have.

She stared at him. “Of course it matters.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he replied, his voice dropping, controlled but edged. “What matters is what people saw.”

Her chest tightened. “What they saw?” she repeated. “They saw a drink spill. That’s it.”

“They saw you lose control,” he corrected. The room felt smaller suddenly, Tighter.

“It was a second,” she said, quieter now but no less firm. “You’re overreacting.”

Evan let out a short, humorless breath, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea who’s out there?” he said. “Do you understand the kind of people in that room?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I do.”

“Then act like it.” The words landed sharp.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Natasha felt something shift inside her, not loud, not dramatic. Just… a crack.

“You care more about how that looked than what actually happened,” she said.

Evan didn’t deny it. That was the worst part. “It reflects on me,” he said simply.

There it was, Not you, Me. Her laugh came out quieter this time. “Of course it does.”

He stepped closer, his gaze hard now, stripped of all pretense. “I’ve built something, Natasha,” he said. “And I won’t have it compromised over something careless.”

Careless. The word lingered.

“I’m not your project,” she said, her voice lower now.

His expression didn’t change.

“No,” he replied, A pause.“You’re part of it.”

Natasha swallowed, something cold settling under her skin. Evan straightened his jacket, adjusting it like the conversation had already ended.

“Fix it,” he said, glancing briefly at the stain on her dress. “Or don’t come back down.”

And just like that, He walked out. Leaving her there, The room felt too quiet after he left.

Natasha stood there for a moment, staring at the door like she expected it to open again. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Slowly, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her fingers brushed lightly over the stain on her dress.

Fix it, Or don’t come back down.

A bitter smile touched her lips. She didn’t reach for anything to fix it. Instead, she turned and walked out, not toward the party.

But away from it, The terrace was colder.

The city stretched endlessly beyond the railing, lights flickering like something alive, something distant from the suffocating perfection inside.

Natasha stepped out, the cool air hitting her skin, grounding her. For the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe.

“You left early.” The voice came from behind her.

Low, Calm, Unfamiliar.

Natasha turned, And for a second, just a second, she forgot how to speak.

He wasn’t dressed like the others, Not entirely. Still formal, Still fitting the room he came from. But something about him felt… separate.

Untouched by it, Ethan Ramos. She knew who he was, Everyone did.

He stood a few steps away, his gaze resting on her, not scanning, not assessing like Evan’s.

Just… observing, Like he already knew what he was looking at. “I needed air,” she said finally.

It wasn’t a lie. He glanced briefly at the stain on her dress. “That tends to happen in rooms like that,” he said.

She frowned slightly. “What does?”

“People forget how to breathe.” His tone wasn’t mocking.

Natasha let out a quiet breath, turning slightly toward the city again. “Or maybe they just pretend they don’t need to.”

“Pretending works,” he said. “Until it doesn’t.”

Something about the way he said it made her look back at him.

There was no performance in him, No polished charm, No carefully placed smile.

“You don’t seem like you pretend much,” she said.

The faintest shift in his expression.

“I don’t,” he replied, Silence settled between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Ethan stepped a little closer, not invading, not claiming space.

“Does he always react like that?” he asked and her breath caught slightly. Not because of the question.

But because of how easily he said it.

Like he had already seen everything, Natasha looked away. “That was nothing,” she said, It sounded weaker than she intended.

Ethan didn’t argue, Didn’t correct her. “Then you’re used to it.”

The words landed deeper than Evan’s had. Because they weren’t sharp, They were true, Natasha didn’t respond, Didn’t need to.

And for the first time she didn't feel the control, she felt seen and somehow that was the worse.